Love In Other Words
by nikkiluvshp
Summary: She can't answer when or how but she knows why.    "It's because we spoke the same language."


Before she fell in love with James, she didn't understand what it meant to "speak the same language". They all lived in England, so naturally, they all spoke English. She didn't believe in special connections or love at first sight or any of that other garbage her dorm mates spewed. And then James Potter became Head Boy and her whole view on everything changed.

Suddenly, she knows how it feels to look at somebody and know exactly what they're thinking and be thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time. It's insane and crazy and she hates it. She hates that she unintentionally lights up when he enters a room. She hates that everyone notices it. More importantly, she hates that he doesn't.

He's never been particularly perceptive, but she thinks it's ridiculous that he's claimed to have been in love with her for years and can't notice when the feeling is mutual. That she can look at him after Slughorn's hand lingers slightly too long and know he's thinking _horny old bugger_, but he can't look at her and know she's thinking _hey, stupid, I'm in love with you._

She hates being in love, just as she always thought she would, because _Merlin,_ the butterflies are the worst. Every time she sees him she feels like she's going to vomit because she's feeling too many things and _fuck_, why didn't she check her hair before she left class like Marlene did and she's suddenly reminded of the pimple that sprung up on her face overnight and oh Jesus Merlin fuck, she's doomed. She wonders if this is what he went through with her and she can't help but be the slightest bit ashamed. She didn't _have_ to be so cruel with her rejections, he was only hexing those — she stops herself right there.

And now, it's March and she can't handle it, she really can't. She wants to be with him, to hold his hand, to _talk the same language_ (a completely different language than the one they've come accustomed to). He continues to date other girls and be oblivious, while she withdraws herself from him because it hurts, and she doesn't think she can handle it anymore. She wants to be herself again. She wants to scoff at everyone who allows love to take control of their lives like she used to. She's tired of being in love and crying herself to sleep because he and his new fling decide to snog in the common room. She wants to just fall asleep and wake up out of love.

"Are you alright Lily?" And shit, it's him, it's always fucking him.

"I'm fine." She says the words brusquely, hoping her clipped tone will make him go away.

"You haven't spoken to me all week." There's the implication that he misses her, that being away from her has been painful for him, too. But she doesn't want to hope, so she doesn't reply coyly or bitterly, she simply tells the truth.

"I've been busy."

"Too busy to talk to a best friend?" She tries not to wince at the word friend. She doesn't know when they've reached this level, but she's tired of the games and tired of her heart aching. Later she'd claim temporary insanity caused by a lack of sleep, but the words just tumble out of her mouth.

"Is that all I am to you, James?" She sounds vulnerable and hates it. He sighs, because it's now or never.

"I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Yes, you do."

"Uh, no, actually, I don't."

Now she sighs. "James."

"_Lily_."

Something changes. The air around them seems to become heavier and filled with static, like the calm before the storm. They stare at each other. It's that language again, the one only the two of them can understand. And suddenly, he gets it.

"Shit." And she knows he knows; she can see it clearly in his eyes. It's reflected in his smile that's so wide she's afraid it will break his face.

"How long?" And because she's kept him waiting long enough, she doesn't bother answering. She grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss. Warmth pools in her belly and it feels so unbelievably right. The butterflies are killing her but she can't believe that she ever hated them because it's _James _(she realizes later that it will always be James).

When he finally pulls back, he has a lot of questions. She can't answer _when_ or _how_ but she knows _why._

"It's because we spoke the same language."

**A/n **

**Oh my, it's so fluffy.**

**So fluffy, I could bear to read it after I wrote it, so there might be a lot of typo's**

**Constructive criticism is always welcome.**


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